Love at First Sight and Other Misfortunes
by MorticiaYouSpokeFrench
Summary: Sansa always believed that love at first sight was the most romantic and lovely thing that could happen to a person. Unfortunately for her, when she first set eyes on the handsome prince, she immediately fell in love... with his sworn shield.


Love at First Sight and Other Misfortunes

Sansa Stark was a perfect lady. She dressed precisely as a lady should- modest, but attractive, she spoke with grace and eloquence, in a smooth voice that was never too loud, she sewed with a skilled and patient hand, and she was an obedient and well-behaved daughter to her parents.

From a very young age, Sansa had resolved to never give her parents any cause for worry or consternation. Her parents loved each other very much, but the Gods knew they already had enough turmoil in their marriage as the result of the bastard her father brought home and raised with his other children. Ned and Catelyn Stark made a point of never arguing in front of others, but even as a young child Sansa could not help but pick up on the tension between them whenever Jon was a topic of conversation.

And Robb was a kind and caring brother, but he was also a boy, bless him, and could not quite help being rambunctious, loud, and dirty. Sansa saw the exhaustion in the lines of her mother's face when she stepped into the newly-cleaned hall only to find it tracked with mud from her eldest boy's boots, and the way that her father would return home after a long day of riding, looking worn out and ready for bed, only to be beset by an eager Robb wanting to wrestle or practice his swordswork.

Sansa loved seeing people happy, especially her doting parents, and therefore made sure that they would never find an additional source of stress in her. She wanted them to always proud and content whenever they thought of her, and to that end, strove always to be perfectly behaved.

After Arya came along, this mission became even more important, since Arya seemed utterly opposed to ever becoming a lady, refused to dress properly, and didn't even seem to care that she made horribly crooked stitches. Sansa had to make up for that by being even more ladylike and proper than ever, a task she accomplished perfectly, she often thought to herself in satisfaction.

There could have been no better news than that which she had received when told that the king and his family were coming to Winterfell to visit. Prince Joffrey was very nearly of her age, and was said to be quite handsome as well. Already there was rumor and speculation among the household staff regarding a possible union between the house of Ned Stark and his old friend, and such a union fit perfectly into Sansa's plans.

Prince Joffrey and Sansa would meet and they would fall in love (preferably at first sight), and after a short but sweet courtship during which Sansa would get to know and love future king and his parents and become a prominent and beloved member of the court, Prince Joffrey would ask her to marry him and she would agree immediately. They would get married in the Great Sept of Baelor, as the royal family applauded, her father looked on proudly, and her mother wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye. They would have many beautiful golden-haired children, and one day, when they were older and the king passed on, Joffrey would become king and she would be his queen. Sansa would be a kind and merciful ruler and give many alms to charity, and would be adored by the populace. Her parents would be very proud, and even Arya would seek out her company and be sorry for all the times she had mistreated Sansa.

It was a beautiful dream, and Sansa thought about it very often in the weeks leading up to the royal family's arrival. Unfortunately, when the moment finally came, Sansa's heart suddenly refused to cooperate. Because as the royal procession entered through the gates and she raised her head to drink in the sight of the prince, the first thought that came to her mind was not ladylike, not proper, and definitely _not_ according to plan.

* * *

Sansa's first reaction to seeing Prince Joffrey's scarred shield was purely physical- a pulse in her heart and a clench in her stomach. But her first coherent (and rather rude) thought was: _The prince looks like an effeminate little boy next to him._ It was a true thought, but it was also rather mean, and Sansa never gave voice to any of her mean thoughts.

So, trying to look composed, and as if her heart wasn't beating so fast she could hear the blood rushing in her ears, Sansa curtsied prettily to the prince and said all the right words about being pleased to meet him. Then, in an attempt to appear nonchalant and indifferent, she turned to greet the Hound, but the second her eyes met his she blushed so hard her cheeks felt like they were on fire, and she completely forgot what she was going to say. Embarrassed, she averted her eyes.

From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the scarred side of his mouth twitching, and felt sure he had noticed her infatuation and was laughing at her. For the rest of the day she remained unusually quiet, feeling clumsy and self-conscious.

That night as she lay in bed, she thought it over, trying to figure out how it had all gone so wrong. It was a mistake, she was sure. Sansa had simply been so prepared to fall in love with the prince immediately that when she first set her sight on him her heart responded automatically, only she must have seen Sandor Clegane before her eyes fell on the prince, and it had all gotten mixed up in her mind somehow, and she had ended up attracted to the wrong person.

It was, Sansa reflected, a simple mistake to make, and one easily corrected. She simply needed to transfer all her confusing new emotions from the prince's sworn shield to the prince himself. It should not be too difficult. After all, Joffrey was handsome, elegant, and gallant. Clegane on the other hand was a mere brute. A big, scarred, hairy, muscled, strong, brute. With dark hair and grey eyes.

Joffrey's eyes were a beautiful green, and Sansa had always preferred to wear bright colors rather than a drab grey. Therefore it followed that Sansa should prefer to stare into Joffrey's clear green eyes over the plain, stormy, mysterious grey eyes of the Hound. Of course it did.

Content that logic dictated she fall in love with Prince Joffrey, and that her own emotions were sure to follow such logic, Sansa finally managed to fall asleep.

Over the next few weeks, Sansa tried to transfer her mistakenly placed affections from the Hound and onto their proper target, but it was proving far more difficult than she had anticipated. First had come Bran's accident, and in the ensuing distress and worry over him, Sansa had completely forgotten her mission of straightening out her treacherous emotions.

She was only reminded of it again when she was informed of her betrothal to Joffrey by her parents. Her first emotion upon hearing the declaration was despair, which probably caused her to react with far less enthusiasm than her parents had hoped. And it didn't seem as if things were set to improve.

In fact, it was as if everyone was conspiring to upset Sansa's plans of marital harmony with the prince. Queen Cersei was unpleasant to be around, and was constantly making Sansa feel self-conscious and foolish, her father seemed stressed and preoccupied, and didn't appear to like her betrothed at all, and Arya spoke of the prince with disdain, claiming she was more of a man than he was (a statement which, unfortunately, was not exactly inaccurate).

Joffrey was making it quite hard as well. He was by turns attentive and impatient, veering between sweet courtesies and condescending annoyance. Worse, Sansa almost preferred it when he was rude and dismissive, since his knightly courtesies were so saccharine and practiced that she felt slimy simply by being on their receiving end. When her last attempt at forming a relationship with the prince resulted in the execution of her sweet, beloved Lady, Sansa resigned herself to never being capable of loving him at all.

She would have been content with merely not loving the Hound anymore, but even that was not working out. Sandor Clegane was being infuriatingly non-cooperative on that front, and it was driving Sansa to distraction.

As if it hadn't been enough that he was the most strong, stoic, and honest man she had ever met, he then had to go and drunkenly tell her about how he had gotten his scars, thus forming a feeling of intimacy, born of the fact that he had shared a secret with her that no one else knew. After that there was such a sense of compassion and understanding between them that Sansa could not ever pretend to herself that her feelings were fleeting.

Knowing the injustices he had been subjected to, his hatred of hypocrisy and lies, his superiority to the men of the court was thrown into sharper relief every day. She finally concluded that it was useless to ignore her feelings for him. How could she, when her stomach fluttered whenever he called her 'little bird', and she would think to herself that there had never been a more sweet and tender term of endearment? She would simply have to make her peace with the fact that she loved the Hound.

At times, Sansa would entertain fantasies of running away with him. A highborn maiden running off with a dashing and brave knight (or non-knight, as the case may be) was a very romantic notion, and it appeared in many of her favorite songs. As romantic as it might have been, though, Sansa was still a good girl. Running off with Sandor Clegane would break her mother's heart. And her father was already taxed to the breaking point by matters of the throne. She could hardly add to his troubles. Especially since running from her engagement with Joffrey would wreak havoc on the already strained relationship between her father and the king. Why, it might even start a war!

So Sansa said nothing to Clegane, but merely stared at him longingly whenever his back was turned.

Then, everything went wrong so, so fast. Before she knew it, Ilyn Payne had taken her father's head, and being a perfect lady and hiding her feelings was no longer a matter of duty but one of survival.

Sansa would have resolutely ignored her feelings for Joffrey's Hound forever, had it not been for the events of the night during which the Battle of Blackwater Bay took place.

* * *

"I could keep you safe," he told her. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill him."

Sansa's heart flew. She would finally leave King's Landing, she would reunite with her family, she would never have to see Joffrey again, and the Lannisters would lose an important bargaining piece; it was as if all her prayers were being granted at once! And of course, most importantly, she would be leaving with Sandor Clegane.

They would ride together on his great black horse, and in the night, they would lie together under the stars, probably sharing the bedding for warmth. Of course, it would be quite improper to travel alone together, just the two of them, unchaperoned. The only possible solution that would maintain propriety was to marry. As a lady, Sansa knew that it was the only correct way to move forward. Her mother and brother would not be happy, of course, that she married someone so beneath her in status, but surely they would prefer to have Sansa back and married to a good man than to still have her a hostage in King's Landing, engaged to a bastard born of incest. And as they would never wish for her to have her virtue questioned due the impropriety of traveling with a man she was not related to, they would probably be relieved to find that she had married the man.

As all this went through her head, the Hound yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss him, of course, she had dreamed of it many times. At the moment, though, his breath smelled like wine and stale vomit, and the prospect lost some of its immediate appeal. They could have their first kiss later, once they were no longer in danger and could do so at their leisure. Preferably at sunset, when the sky was at its most beautiful and after Sandor had had an opportunity to wash his mouth.

"I need to go pack!" she exclaimed quickly, jerking out of his embrace to avoid any awkwardness. She rushed around the room trying to find a bag suitable to carry all of her things.

"You're coming then?" he asked, sounding slightly disbelieving.

She giggled. "Did you doubt it for a minute?"

"Yes," he huffed, sitting on the bed and watching her run around the room to gather her necessities. When he saw her begin to shove jewels into her satchel, he laughed roughly. "You won't be going to many parties where jewels will be called for, little bird. We're traveling light, take only what you need."

"I'm not stupid," she replied, glaring at him. "And I'm not so shallow that I'm taking jewels simply so I can look pretty while on the run. These jewels are worth a lot of money, and eventually the time will come when we will run out of food and supplies, and will need to buy more."

She was satisfied to see that he was cowed by this reply, and didn't answer her back. It was indeed clever of her to sell the jewels, she mused, pleased for thinking of it. And, she reflected, fingering the opals in her hands lovingly, if she waited until after they married to make the sale and happened to wear something pretty to her wedding, it would probably just be a fortunate coincidence.

The time came, and they finally escaped. In the chaos that surrounded King's Landing it was far easier to leave than Sansa would have imagined, and no one paid them the slightest bit of attention.

None of the rest of their escape seemed to be going as she had had hoped, though. Sansa was not used to riding for long periods of time, and had real trouble keeping up with Sandor. Especially since her horse seemed to have far less stamina than Stranger did. She would not have had had this problem if she could have ridden on Stranger's back with Sandor, but he had pointed out that as they would need to ride fast for a long period of time, and the weight of two people would be too much additional strain for Stranger. It was disappointing, but understandable, and Sansa consoled herself by thinking of how considerate her future husband was, to be taking such good care of his horse.

When it finally came time to sleep, Sansa thought that perhaps things would start working out for her the way she had imagined them. Unfortunately, she was disappointed yet again. She had laid her bedroll next to Sandor's, as close as could be, but instead of taking her in his arms and keeping her warm all night, he got in, and immediately fell asleep on his back, snoring loudly. The cold, hard ground was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever had to sleep on, and even when Sandor's snores didn't keep her up, the sounds of the forest, rustling leaves and cracking branches, did. Sansa felt like she had hardly gotten any sleep at all.

She allowed the situation to continue that way for a few more days, knowing they were still close to King's Landing, and needed to make a great distance before letting their guard down. She spent the days blearily trying not to fall asleep in the saddle, struggling to keep up with Stranger's punishing pace, and the nights cold and uncomfortable and waking far too often.

After a week, though, Sansa decided that she had had enough. They had come quite a significant distance from King's Landing, and had encountered no one but some bedraggled peasants, and it was high time for them to find a town to get married in, and hopefully a real bed to sleep in.

When she brought up the prospect of stopping at the nearest town, she was pleasantly surprised at how easily Sandor agreed to it. "Good idea, bird," he said. "We've come far enough now that the danger isn't as great." Then, because he always ruined everything, he added: "Besides, I'm almost out of wine."

Sansa pursed her lips. She hardly thought that buying wine was the most important errand they had in town. "Not to mention that we need to find a sept," she replied pointedly.

"What are you talking about, girl?" he asked impatiently.

"A sept," she repeated. "To get married in. It's bad enough that we've spent so many nights together alone in the wilderness while still unmarried, but that couldn't be helped. Now that you yourself have admitted that it should be safe to stop in a town, we really can't delay the wedding any longer."

He stared at her blankly, his mouth twitching something furious. "You want to get married? Did it never occur to you to inform me about this part of you plan?"

"I thought it was obvious!" she declared, throwing up her hands. "Really, Sandor, I know you don't care much for propriety, but after all the time you've spent around nobles, I should think you would know how important marriage is in such situations. We've been traveling alone for so long now, my honor will be questioned without a doubt!"

"This escape was a matter of life and death, you stupid bird! Do you really think anyone would care about your bloody honor in such a situation?"

"Why are you being so horrible?" she cried, trying desperately to keep the tears she could feel building from falling, "If you love me, why wouldn't you _want_ to-"

She was interrupted by his loud, bitter laughter. "Love you? Are you really so vain that you think everyone must love you simply for your beauty?"

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly. A proper lady was always pleasantly surprised when men confessed their love for her. "Of course not," she repeated softly, trying to keep the tears from her voice. "I only thought you loved me."

"And why would you think that?" he snarled.

"Well, for one thing, you were constantly trying to seduce me!"

"Me? When did I try to seduce you?"

"That night on the serpentine. You asked me to sing for you, and told me all a man needs was wine or a woman. And-" she blushed, "-you talked about my teats."

"That wasn't seduction, girl! That was just observation. If I were trying to seduce you, I wouldn't talk about the fact that you have teats, I'd do it nicer than that. I'd tell you how I'd like to suck on your teats, and feel your little nipples go all hard and pointy. And how I'd like to come all over them, Gods." His voice became even lower and more growly as he spoke, and Sansa felt her face become even redder.

"Oh," she squeaked. She meant to say it, but it came out as a squeak. "I- I can see how that would have been more seductive."

They both stared at each other for a minute, breathing harshly, before Sansa regained her train of thought. "Well, what about that day on the battlements? You wiped the blood off my lip. You could have just handed me the handkerchief to wipe off the blood, but you didn't; you touched my lip yourself."

How many nights had she spent after that, trying to recall the exact feeling of his gentle touch on her bottom lip? The Hound merely laughed, though. "I was doing it to keep between you and Joffrey. So you couldn't kill him like you had been planning, and he wouldn't notice what you wanted to do."

"Well I was constantly feeling seduced by you!" she shouted at him angrily. "And I'm a proper lady! Would a proper lady be feeling seduced if there weren't someone intentionally seducing her?"

The Hound gaped at her. "Little bird-"

"And that's not the only reason I thought you loved me!" she continued shouting, too angry and humiliated to want to hear what he had to say. "You came for me during the bread riots and saved me! My own betrothed didn't care, he would have had me left there to be raped and killed, but you came! And when Joffrey had me beaten, you tried to have it stopped, and you gave me your cloak to cover my nakedness."

"Sansa-" he took a step towards her, but she shook her head, refusing to listen.

"And what about the battle, Sandor? What about our escape? What other reason would you have to take me away to my family? I'm slowing you down, me and my horse are taking up food and supplies, you might not have even been pursued if you hadn't taken me along. So why did you save me, Sandor? What reason could you have to do all that if you didn't love me back?"

She could not help the tears running down her cheeks now, and she tried to lift her hands to her face, to shield herself and her embarrassment. Before she could, though, his great broad chest blocked her field of vision, and his great strong arms came around her in an embrace.

"I do love you, little bird," he rasped in her ear, and then chuckled. "Love you _back_. Gods, how can a person be so wrong and so right at the same time?" A kiss was pressed to her temple, which gave Sansa the courage to lift her eyes to meet his.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

"Well, you misinterpreted every single thing I did, and still somehow managed to come to the right conclusion. I do love you, but I certainly never tried to seduce you. I was trying to hide my feelings from you." He laughed at the bewildered expression on her face. "Mind you, if I knew that I actually had a chance at seducing you, I would have tried. _Relentlessly_."

"Well then, thank the Maiden you didn't," Sansa giggled. "You were disturbingly good at it for a man who wasn't even trying."

"Well," he pointed out with an evil grin, "Now I do know."

Sansa gulped. "My virtue is in danger."

Sandor laughed. "No worries, little bird, next town we get to, I'll take you to a sept. Get it all properly done."

"Truly?" she asked hopefully.

"Aye. Truly," he twirled a strand of her hair around his finger. "Never thought I'd ever marry, especially not a girl like you. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"Well then, you big bully, why did you kick up such a fuss about marrying me when I brought it up earlier?" Sansa demanded.

Sandor shrugged. "I thought you only wanted to do it out of some misguided sense of propriety. I didn't know then that you loved me."

"Silly man," she smiled, putting her hands around his neck and pulling him down towards her, "I loved you from the moment I saw you."


End file.
